Mass Effect: Children of Cerberus
by FieryPolio
Summary: Nearly 3 decades have passed since the Reaper War and the Galaxy is still rebuilding, every species as united as they've ever been. But after the wreckage of a long lost ship is discovered and a devastating threat from the Cerberus Remnant looms, Admiral James Shepard tabs the crew of the SSV Orleans and its new captain for a mission with humanity's existence at stake. OC-centric.
1. Prologue: Coorespondence

**NOTICE: All characters (except original) are property of Bioware & EA and I'm not making any money off of them what-so-ever. I'm writing this because I love telling stories, developing relationships between characters, reading the reaction of those following the story, not to make a profit. Most chapters will be in the "short and sweet" range but I'm shooting for at least 1200-2000 words a piece. A warning: The story focuses on a new crew on a new ship 27 years after the end of the Reaper War. Characters from the games will cameo, some playing bigger parts than others, but the essence of Shepard and the legendary Normandy crew will be infused throughout. Constructive criticism is always welcome, I know my knowledge of certain minutia is lacking and friendly corrections are appreciated.**

 **Rated M for some coarse language sprinkled throughout, adult themes, violence and (maybe) adult themes and sexual situations in later chapters.**

* * *

 **SYSTEMS ALLIANCE**  
 **From the desk of Admiral Hamid al-Hassan**  
 **2015 West 41st Ave**  
 **Vancouver BC, Canada**

 **Admiral James Shepard**  
 **3480 Dunbar St**  
 **Vancouver BC, Canada**

Dear Admiral Shepard,

Before I begin, I wanted to take the time to once again thank you for your service to the Alliance as well as this galaxy. Returning after the destruction of the Citadel was nothing short of remarkable. And despite the disappearance of the original SSV Normandy and its Alliance crew, you're continuing fighting the good fight for years after is something that will be admired for generations. I am among many who hated the way your career on the battlefield ended, but I cannot stress the importance of having you as a figurehead on our illustrious admiralty board. Even not on the battlefield, you provide a great sense of security and hope to all the galaxy.

I also thank you for the chance to provide recommendations for the next captain for the SSV Orleans. It is not often the former captain of a ship is afforded the opportunity to do so and to me, it is a tremendous honor. The years I spent aboard as a member of the crew, as well as captain, were some of the best years of my life.

As requested, I've attached a dossier of information on the two (2) crew members whom I'm giving my recommendation. Commander Quinn should receive first consideration as he is the ranking officer, but he has a history of turning down promotions. Quite frankly, we were lucky he had no choice in regards to his last one. Erring on the side of caution, I've included information on the next best candidate, as well as profiles for other essential crew members. I know it is unorthodox, but if the Alliance is insisting on promoting more frequently from the inside, then we may have no choice.

In conclusion, I look forward to your decision. I know this correspondence may seem short, but we will have plenty to talk about at the hearing. We can discuss the candidates further then, if you so desire.

Very respectfully submitted,

Hamid al-Hassan  
Admiral, Systems Alliance

* * *

 **RECOMMENDED FOR PROMOTION**

NAME: **PATRICK VINCENT QUINN**  
RANK: STAFF COMMANDER (PROMOTION PENDING)  
GENDER: MALE  
HAIR: BLACK/GREY  
EYES: BLUE  
HEIGHT: 6'1"  
WEIGHT: 210 LBS  
AGE: 45  
BIRTHDAY: 2173 JULY 14  
BIRTHPLACE: SSV RAINIER (ALLIANCE DREADNOUGHT)  
CLASS: SOLDIER  
BIOTIC?: NO  
PREF. ARMOR: N7 (BLUE/BLACK/BLUE)  
PRIM. WEAPON: M-7 LANCER ASSAULT RIFLE  
SIDEARM?: N7 EAGLE HEAVY PISTOL  
NOTES: Born in space, raised on space stations, dreadnoughts and freighters...Son of career Alliance officers...Skilled with almost any weapon, as well as CQC...Graduate of the N7 program...Seems to be of the "Big Stick" ideology...Quiet and reserved, but crew listens when he speaks...Despite rarely having been to earth before, started and raised his family there...Future admiral if he ever accepts it...Has refused several promotions in the past, citing time away from his family as the reason...Recommended for promotion to captain...Trying one last time

NAME: **KRYSTAL DAWN BISHOP**  
RANK: LT. COMMANDER (PROMOTION PENDING)  
GENDER: FEMALE  
HAIR: BROWN  
EYES: BROWN  
HEIGHT: 5'9"  
WEIGHT: 140 LBS  
AGE: 35  
BIRTHDAY: 2183 NOVEMBER 11  
BIRTHPLACE: PHOENIX, USA (EARTH, SOL)  
CLASS: SOLDIER  
BIOTIC?: NO  
PREF. ARMOR: N7 (RED/BLACK/RED)  
PRIM. WEAPON: M-8 AVENGER ASSAULT RIFLE  
SIDEARM?: M-77 PALADIN HEAVY PISTOL  
NOTES: An exemplary soldier...Graduated in the top 2% of her class at Alliance Academy...Tested high enough on ASVAB to enroll in officer's academy but chose to join infantry instead, ended up moving through ranks quickly as part of the N7 program...Diagnosed with low grade Axis II Personality Disorder while at Academy...In short, she has some difficulty showing emotion and empathy toward crew in certain situations...Could be due in part to tough upbringing, being abandoned by her birth mother and growing up in orphanages and foster care...Disorder is a double edged sword; ability to shut out emotion makes her an excellent soldier but lack of empathy can sometimes disrupt morale...Dr. Carlyon has mentioned experimental medication to correct the disorder...Still highly recommended for promotion to captain

 **ESSENTIAL CREW**

NAME: **DR. ADRIANA LAMARCA**  
RANK: 1ST LIEUTENANT  
GENDER: FEMALE  
HAIR: BROWN  
EYES: BROWN  
HEIGHT: 5'6"  
WEIGHT: 125 LBS  
AGE: 34  
BIRTHDAY: 2184 AUGUST 5  
BIRTHPLACE: KARLSKRONA, SWEDEN (EARTH, SOL)  
CLASS: ADEPT  
BIOTIC?: YES (LEVEL 4, L5X IMPLANT)  
PREF. ARMOR: SERRICE COUNCIL (RED/DARK BLUE/SILVER)  
PRIM. WEAPON: N/A  
SIDEARM?: M-25 HORNET SUB MACHINE GUN  
NOTES: Brilliant scientist...Born to Italian father and Swedish mother...Family has long history of studying Reapers and Protheans...Long time admirer of Dr. Liara T'Soni...Carried on family's work after mother passed away...Earned doctorate in archaeology while attending Grissom Academy...Currently working on biology doctorate...Powerful biotic...Rarely carries standard issue weapon...Prefers pull and slam abilities

NAME: **WILLIAM DEAN MORGAN**  
RANK: 2ND LIEUTENANT/COMMS OFFICER  
GENDER: MALE  
HAIR: LT BROWN  
EYES: HAZEL  
HEIGHT: 5'10"  
WEIGHT: 185 LBS  
AGE: 38  
BIRTHDAY: 2180 MARCH 1  
BIRTHPLACE: AMATERASU, HUMAN COLONY (AMUN, EAGLE NEBULA)  
CLASS: ENGINEER  
BIOTIC?: NO  
PREF. ARMOR: ROSENKOV MATERIALS (BLUE/BLUE/YELLOW)  
PRIM. WEAPON: M-12 LOCUST SUB MACHINE GUN  
SIDEARM?: M-5 PHALANX HEAVY PISTOL  
NOTES: SSV Orleans' technical expert...Specializes in communications systems and hardware, but can handle almost anything that relies on computers...Also in charge of diagnostics that keep new ship AI shackled...Assisted in design and construction of several satellites sent to the far edges of the galaxy to monitor activity (IE Reapers)...Named one satellite after his little sister Chloe Marie...Seems to prefer tinkering with projects in his quarters rather than take part in normal downtime/shore leave activities

NAME: **MAYA KARINA ARACELI**  
RANK: FLIGHT LIEUTENANT  
GENDER: FEMALE  
HAIR: BLONDE  
EYES: BLUE  
HEIGHT: 5'3"  
WEIGHT: 120 LBS  
AGE: 29  
BIRTHDAY: 2189 JUNE 9  
BIRTHPLACE: KINGS CROSS, ENGLAND (EARTH, SOL)  
CLASS: SOLDIER  
BIOTIC?: NO  
PREF. ARMOR: N/A  
PRIM. WEAPON: N/A  
SIDEARM?: M-3 PREDATOR HEAVY PISTOL  
NOTES: One of the best pilots in the Alliance...Graduated at top of flight class...Co-lead fighter squadron stationed on Alliance dreadnought SSV Logan...Issued call-sign "Cricket" because of her small stature...Call-sign still used among crew today...Tends to be overly emotional at times, especially in situations involving the well-being of her fellow crew mates...A good trait to have, but can prove to be a weakness in her judgment

NAME: **NIXON KEITH CALDWELL**  
RANK: GUNNERY CHIEF  
GENDER: MALE  
HAIR: BLACK  
EYES: BLUE  
HEIGHT: 5'10"  
WEIGHT: 190 LBS  
AGE: 30  
BIRTHDAY: 2188 SEPTEMBER 9  
BIRTHPLACE: FRANKLIN, HUMAN COLONY (SKEPSIS, SIGURD'S CRADLE)  
CLASS: SENTINEL  
BIOTIC?: YES (LEVEL 3, L5X IMPLANT)  
PREF. ARMOR: ARIAKE TECHNOLOGIES (TAN/BLACK/TAN)  
PRIM. WEAPON: M-560 HYDRA LAUNCHER  
SIDEARM?: M-4 SHURIKEN SUB MACHINE GUN  
NOTES: In charge of SSV Orleans' armory...Procurement officer...Has ability to obtain powerful and sometimes rare weapons and armor (we don't ask questions)...Can perform routine weapons repairs in the field...Tends to goof off during downtime/shore leave...New captain needs to monitor behavior...Perhaps an evaluation with Dr. Carlyon is needed

NAME: **JHERIDIAH GREENE**  
RANK: SERVICE CHIEF  
GENDER: MALE  
HAIR: BLONDE  
EYES: BROWN  
HEIGHT: 6'  
WEIGHT: 180 LBS  
AGE: 32  
BIRTHDAY: 2186 OCTOBER 30  
BIRTHPLACE: SAINT LOUIS, USA (EARTH, SOL)  
CLASS: VANGUARD  
BIOTIC?: YES (LEVEL 3, L5N IMPLANT)  
PREF. ARMOR: KASSA FABRICATION (ORANGE/BLACK/ORANGE)  
PRIM. WEAPON: M-27 SCHIMITAR SHOTGUN  
SIDEARM?: M-9 TEMPEST SUB MACHINE GUN  
NOTES: Pilots UT-47A Kodiak Transportation Shuttle...Master mechanic...In charge of shuttle bay and vehicle repairs...Vast knowledge of Alliance ships and vehicles, including M-38 Mako...Uses biotic powers to increase efficiency of repairs...Rarely joins shore party on ground missions, but has the ability to if ordered...Prefers recon in Kodiak until completion of mission

NAME: **MANUEL ENRICO ALVAREZ**  
RANK: LANCE CORPORAL  
GENDER: MALE  
HAIR: BLACK  
EYES: BROWN  
HEIGHT: 5'9"  
WEIGHT: 180 LBS  
AGE: 28  
BIRTHDAY: 2190 MARCH 28  
BIRTHPLACE: MADRID, SPAIN (EARTH, SOL)  
CLASS: INFILTRATOR  
BIOTIC?: NO  
PREF. ARMOR: HAHNE KEDAR W/ RECON MASK(YELLOW/RED/BLACK)  
PRIM. WEAPON: M-97 VIPER SNIPER RIFLE  
SIDEARM?: M-6 CARNIFEX PISTOL  
NOTES: Runs armory w/ Gunnery Chief Caldwell...Skilled sniper and mechanic...May be best long range shot in the Alliance...Tied Admiral James Shepard's sniper range scoring record while at Alliance Academy...Spent early part of career helping the Alliance rebuild of earth...Tends to slack on armory duties when Caldwell is around...Make sure new captain addresses this

 **NON-ESSENTIAL/CIVILIAN CREW**

NAME: **DR. MADELINE SOFIA CARLYON**  
RANK: N/A  
GENDER: FEMALE  
HAIR: BLACK  
EYES: HAZEL  
HEIGHT: 5'6"  
WEIGHT: 125 LBS  
AGE: 31  
BIRTHDAY: 2187 MAY 19  
BIRTHPLACE: QUEBEC, CANADA (EARTH, SOL)  
CLASS: CIVILIAN  
BIOTIC?: NO  
PREF. ARMOR: SERRICE COUNCIL (RED/WHITE/RED)  
PRIM. WEAPON: N/A  
SIDEARM?: M-25 HORNET SUB MACHINE GUN  
NOTES: SSV Orleans' physician/surgeon...Staff psychologist as well...Has straightforward, sometimes harsh demeanor with patients...Spent residency at Huerta memorial on the Citadel...Volunteered to join Alliance shortly after completing residency...Obtained weapons training while stationed on SSV Melbourne...Authorized to accompany shore parties as field medic

 **NEW RECRUITS/TRANSFERS**

NAME: **LANCE EVGENI POSCHARSKY**  
RANK: CORPORAL  
GENDER: MALE  
HAIR: BLONDE  
EYES: GREEN  
HEIGHT: 5'9"  
WEIGHT: 185 LBS  
AGE: 25  
BIRTHDAY: 2193 OCTOBER 21  
BIRTHPLACE: CHICAGO, USA (EARTH, SOL)  
CLASS: SOLDIER  
BIOTIC?: YES (LEVEL 2, L5X IMPLANT)  
PREF. ARMOR: N7 (RED/BLACK/RED)  
PRIM. WEAPON: M-15 VINDICATOR ASSAULT RIFLE  
SIDEARM?: M-23 KATANA SHOTGUN  
NOTES: Recently transferred from SSV Quebec...Born to American father and Russian mother...Took mother's last name after she passed away...Fluent in four languages (English, Russian, Spanish, French)...Average level biotic...Attended Grissom Academy, no notable commendations...Green in regards to battlefield experience...Expected to join SSV Orleans after short stint on leave


	2. 1:1 Strange Times

**"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves." - William Shakespeare**

* * *

Of the few feelings Lieutenant Commander Krystal Bishop could experience, she hated this feeling the most.

The anxiousness, the confinement. She couldn't shake it. She paced from one end of her quarters to the other, her boots clicking softly on the floor. The rhythmic sound was mesmerizing, filling the room to the point it seemed louder than it actually was. One, two, three, four, stop. Turn and repeat. Back and forth she went, a large porthole window taking turns between passing her left and right. Glimpses of distant passing planets and stars rushed by, along with the occasional blue streak of star dust. She paused in front of the full length mirror on the opposite wall, stared only for a moment, cringed and resumed pacing.

Krystal hated this feeling, so much so she wished it was just like all the rest. Non-existent. This level of confinement would be staggering to a lesser Marine. She couldn't breathe. Her arms felt as though they were tied off at her sides, shackled by thick dark blue wool. What if a rogue Krogan came crashing through the door? How could she kill it while she was so damn uncomfortable?

One, two, stop. She paused in front of the mirror again, this time for a bit longer. Her eyes scanned herself from the bottom to the top: boots polished to a mirror shine, freshly pressed pants, a perfectly fitted coat with lieutenant commander insignia on each shoulder. Jesus, how she hated wearing her dress blues. The only thing not tended to was her dark brown hair, still hanging loosely just past her chin. There wasn't much to be done with it really. That's why she'd saved it for last.

Krystal felt a subtle change as the SSV Orleans slowed, the stars and planets outside the porthole replaced by the familiar blue and green of Earth. She removed a brush from the table drawer next to the mirror and the short but arduous process of making her hair look presentable began when a chime sounded overhead.

"Krys?" a soft British female voice came through the speaker.

"Yes Flight Lieutenant?"

"We've arrived at Earth and we're beginning our decent. I also thought you'd like to know Commander Quinn has been waiting at the airlock for the last twenty minutes."

"Well I'm sure he won't mind waiting for another five."

"Normally I'd agree but...you know that thing he does when he gets impatient and he crosses his arms, looks at the ceiling and starts tapping his foot rapidly on the floor?"

Krystal looked up, "Yes?"

"Well he's doing it now and if I didn't know any better I'd say he was trying to kick his way down to engineering."

Krystal placed the brush back into the drawer, "Tell him I'm on my way."

"See you in a moment, Krys."

Lieutenant Commander Bishop carefully examined her hair. It was cut military regulation length, just passed her chin, parted on the right side. It was smooth, flawless, tucked behind her ears. She gave herself a last look and surprised herself by noting that she looked...acceptable. Krystal left her quarters, located on the port side of the Orleans and made her way straight to the elevator. She passed the corridor leading to the mess hall. Random chatter and laughter could be heard from some of the crew enjoying downtime. The scent of roasted peppers and onions filled the air and burned her eyes. Lance Corporal Alvarez must have been on kitchen duty again. Krystal's eyes watered as she approached the lift, the sensors detecting her presence and summoning the elevator automatically. A moment later the doors slid open and Krystal's heart skipped a beat. Lieutenant Dean Morgan was leaning on the wall inside the elevator, his finger flicking across the screen of a transparent datapad. He looked up with his dark hazel colored eyes and straightened up upon seeing Krys.

"Ma'am." he said, giving a friendly smile.

Krys entered the elevator, "As you were, Lieutenant. Deck 2, ANII."

 _"Yes, Lieutenant Commander,"_ ANII's metallic voice answered her. The doors closed and the short journey to reach a floor up began. The smell of peppers was replaced by the faint scent of the soap Dean used in the showers. He always smelled like that, clean and welcoming, like vanilla and lavender...

"You look lovely today, LTC. If you don't mind me saying." Dean barely managed to pipe up, not taking his eyes off his datapad.

"I don't." she replied flatly. As much as she tried not to, she couldn't help but answer the compliment with anything more than a simple statement. Like he had entered the correct password into his omni-tool and it gave a small beep as a response. He had done the right thing to get in, but was only given business as usual. A moment of awkward silence passed before the elevator reached the second deck and the doors opened. Dean gestured politely for Krys to disembark first, which she did, giving the slightest of nods in return. Again, she wanted so badly to give something more, even a smile. But she couldn't. And it killed her. They walked in silence together a few more yards until Dean silently peeled off to speak with one of the many communications specialists he oversaw, handing her the datapad. Krys felt him give one last quick glance but she didn't look back.

She continued on, around the galaxy map and down the long corridor leading to the cockpit and airlock, garnering a few salutes from some of the navigation and communications crews that saw her walk through. In stride, she returned the ones that were given, eventually reaching the airlock but Commander Quinn was nowhere in sight.

"In here, Krys."

The door to the cockpit was wide open, as Flight Lieutenant Maya Araceli liked it to be. In the co-pilot's seat to the left sat Commander Patrick Quinn. Krys stepped into the dimly lit cockpit and snapped to attention, giving Rick a crisp salute. He stood and gave one in return.

"You don't have to do that every time you see me." Rick said, annoyed.

Krys turned her attention to the pilot. "That's three times today you've been informal with me, Lieutenant." she said, moving her shoulders uncomfortably in the constricting fabric of her dress blues.

The pilot's chair whirled around and a petite blonde woman playfully frowned, crossing one leg over the other, "I'm sorry. 'In here, Lieutenant Commander'", she repeated in her North London accent, "It's just such a hassle to say that every time I have to speak to you. I mean, you call me Cricket all the time anyway. Can't I come up with a nickname? I'll call you 'LTC' like Deanie does. You don't get mad when he does that."

"I've...never noticed he does that." Krys said dryly.

"I've noticed." Rick said in his raspy quiet voice, plopping back down.

"See? Even the usually wooden Commander has noticed. One thing's for sure, you're lying is still rubbish. ANII, have we heard from the Alliance yet about our landing clearance?" Maya turned her attention back to her console, ignoring Krys' grimace.

 _"I'm sorry, Flight Lieutenant, but there appears to be some confusion about which shuttles are to land next and where exactly they are supposed to land. The last ETA given was estimated to be twenty minutes."_ ANII responded.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Fix it, ANII. I want to get out of this outfit." Rick snapped.

 _"Of course, Commander."_

Maya rolled her eyes, "All the technology the Protheans left for us to find on Mars and there wasn't a single bit about being better air traffic controllers."

"Give them a break, Cricket. They're still rebuilding down there. Everyone is." Rick said.

"I know they are. It'll be nice to see it when it's all done."

"If it's ever done in our lifetime." Krys said flatly.

Maya nodded, "That's true. You know, when the rebuilding started, first we worked on the hospitals, then the schools. But those were Alliance projects. England started rebuilding the football stadiums. We Brits sure have our priorities straight, don't we?"

 _"Flight Lieutenant?"_ ANII said.

"ANII, how many times have I told you, you can call me Maya."

 _"Understood. Rewritting information...We've received our landing clearance. It was apparently expedited by Admiral Shepard."_

"Well...we must be on something special if Shepard is already involved." Rick muttered.

The pilot looked at Krys and shrugged "Alright, whatever works. Take us in, ANII. You don't mind do you?"

 _"Of course not...Maya."_

* * *

Under ANII's control, the SSV Orleans glided over the northwestern United States and into Canada, descending into Vancouver. It broke through the clouds, the dark blue Pacific Ocean sprawling to the west. As the Orleans came closer, three distinct landscapes could be seen: The majority of the city that had been rebuilt, the few blocks that hadn't taken much damage from the Reapers and the buildings that had yet to be rebuilt. After the Reaper war, the task of rebuilding was shared among all galactic races, accelerating the rebuilding process and lightening the load on the Alliance. Since then, a mostly peaceful rebuilding of the galaxy took place. But even nearly three decades later, some rebuilding was slow going. Materials always seemed to be hard to come by, even with Alliance help.

The Alliance Headquarters in Vancouver had been one of the first structures to be resurrected. Everything from the offices and conference halls to the plaza with its numerous shops, restaurants and fountains, and docks had been replicated, back to its once pristine glory . Some improvements had even been made, such as the entertainment wing off the plaza and Hall of Heroes. The Orleans located its dock and slowed to a hover, large magnetic clamps carefully attaching on each side of the silver and green trimmed hull. ANII powered down systems to standby mode.

"Have fun you crazy kids." Maya teased from the rear of the airlock.

"We won't be too long." Rick said.

Krys gave him a quizzical look, "How can you be so sure?"

He shrugged, "I've done this a few times before." He smoothed down the left temple of his graying black hair as the airlock closed behind him and the doors ahead slid open.

 _"The commanding officer is ashore. XO Lamarca as the deck."_

The two ranking officers of the Orleans walked out of the ship and headed down the ramp to the check out platform. The docks buzzed around them, small rectangular shuttles whizzed by, the metallic clanging of tools and the sizzling of panels being welded onto ships filled the air. To the left, a small crew began to refuel the Orleans. Krys and Rick made their way through the small groups of Alliance workers populating the docks. The ones who didn't have their hands full stopped to salute.

Rick led the way and soon they were out of the docks and onto an elevated terrace that overlooked the main plaza of Alliance headquarters. He should have known this walk by heart by now; of the three promotions he had turned down, two of them had been refused here. Although he had to note, this was the first time he'd seen the plaza in its finished form. Sculpted hedges and greenery filled the plaza, numerous fountains and grassy areas with benches littered the spaces in between. Off-duty officers and their families were using the grassy areas for picnics, they walked in pairs, talking and laughing. For the first time in a long time, Rick witnessed something he hadn't in Vancouver for a very long time: People were happy. Almost as though for a few moments they had forgotten the horrors that happened here. Sure, it had been almost three decades since the Reaper War, but everything was still so fresh in everyone's minds.

Rick could remember the morning it happened. Just a few months after turning 18, he remembered being awoken by screeching alarms and flashing lights, his parents barely kissing him goodbye as they disappeared to fight the Reapers. Soon after he enlisted. He watched on the news every night, hoping there would be some sign of them. He remembered Commander Shepard giving updates on Battlespace. The images of huge bug-shaped machines descending on every planet. Refugees of all races gathering together, searching for their families and friends. No power, no clean water or food. And even back then, he thought it was sad it took something like that to bring the galaxy together.

"This way." Rick said over his shoulder. Krys stayed on his heels as they continued around the terrace. The main courtyard leading to Alliance headquarters was also known as the Hall of Heroes, each side of it lined with large bronze statues dedicated to the heroes who perished during the Reaper War. Those who had survived the War but had passed away since were also honored with statues posthumously. Colorful flowers and small gifts were placed at the foot of each statue, some older, others brand new. Candles in glass jars held down sealed envelopes containing letters and colorful messages made by kids and adults alike, thanking them for their service and sacrifice. There were even empty platforms waiting to enshrine those heroes who were still living. In between the rows of statues was a large slender pewter torch, dedicated to the missing Normandy SVR-2 and its crew. It was lit a few days after the ship was lost and hadn't stopped burning since. Despite it only having a skeleton crew on board, few people had given up hope it would be found some day.

Rick gave passing glances at the statues as he walked by. Admiral David Anderson, portrayed in his dress blues. The Salarian Mordin Solus, his fingers lightly folded together. Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko in his battle armor. A rather voluptuous figure representing the original EDI. The Geth known as Legion. The assassin Thane Krios, a thoughtful look emblazoned on his face, a book of scripture in his hand.

The newest statues were towards the middle of the courtyard. Dr. Karin Chakwas, who had passed away in her sleep almost a decade ago. Jacob Taylor, who was killed in an ambush by the Cerberus Remnant. And Admiral Steven Hackett, who helped lead the galaxy to victory against the Reapers. Rick paused a moment at Hackett's statue, admiring his confident demeanor, as well as the detailed scar and goatee that had been etched into the bronze. Rick remembered how famously gray it was, running a hand through his own graying hair. Maybe he should grow a beard?

"Commander Quinn!" a voice said behind him. Rick turned to see his former captain, the newly promoted Admiral Hamid Al-Hassan, a man with dark olive skin and a thin gray beard. He smiled and spared a salute, instead extending his hand, which Rick shook heartily. "How are you? How is your family? Your children?"

"They're doing well. Connor just started ROTC." Rick said.

"Following in the footsteps of his father. He'll make a fine soldier." Al-Hassan smiles, noticing Krystal walking up. "Lieutenant Commander! Good to see you as well!"

"Admiral." She snapped to attention. Rick tried not to roll his eyes. This girl needs to lighten up.

Al-Hassan shook her hand as well, nodding his head as a gesture to start walking. "If you'll both follow me we haven't much time. Hopefully we'll arrive before Admiral Shepard."

"If I may ask, sir. Why the rush to see the board?" Krys asked.

The admiral didn't stop walking, "These are strange times we're living in. The galaxy is in relative peace, the most peaceful and cooperative it has been since the end of the Reaper War. Yet every time we appear to be slipping into the darkness of chaos once more, something happens that brings us together again."

Rick scowled, "They think my promotion will save the galaxy? Will all due respect, that's a bunch of -"

"Is something else happening?" Krys interrupted.

"Yes and no. It's difficult to explain," Al-Hassan said, a touch of frustration in his voice. He led them down a wide staircase to the main chamber where the meeting would take place. Small groups of officers and the like were waiting around the doors of the chamber, awaiting their turn to enter, quiet voices echoing off the high ceilings. "You should be third on the docket. It shouldn't take long, if things go according to plan." The admiral gave Rick a knowing look.

"Does anything ever go according to plan?" Rick shrugged. Krys stared at him coldly.

Sometimes they did, sure, Rick thought. But whatever plans anyone had today wouldn't exactly happen the way they wanted. He had no intention of accepting this or any other promotion, no matter what it was they dangled in front of him. Saying 'no' again probably meant some crap detail or whatever punishment the new captain could think of. Which was fine with him. The new captain, he thought. Rick gave Krys a sideways glance and a little smile. She continued her long, cold glare.


	3. 1:2 Credits

**"All great men had simple beginnings." - Lailah Gifty Akita**

* * *

"Let's roll, daddy-o!" Gunnery Chief Nixon Caldwell slapped his best friend, Lance Corporal Manny Alvarez, hard on the back as he exited the Orleans' airlock and trotted onto the Citadel's landing platform.

"About time, _pendejo_. I've been waiting out here forever."

"Oh boo-hoo. So dramatic!" Nix walked backwards for a spell, sticking out his bottom lip, "It was ten minutes, tops. Adriana wouldn't let me leave."

"What did she say?"

"No side trips. Straight to the pick up and back."

"Maybe we can..."

"She's timing us. Again." Nix said, cocking an eyebrow. Manny scowled.

"Damn. I guess fun will have to wait until shore leave." he said.

Nix shrugged, waving his omni-tool over the elevator call console. It answered with a pleasant chime. "Doesn't it always?" The elevator opened and they boarded. Nix dialed a command that would take them to docking bay 94, where the newest member of the Orleans would be waiting. The last order Rick had given as a Commander was for Nix and Manny to pick up the young corporal, freshly transferred from a fleet in the Attican Beta cluster. He had said something about receiving more funding from the Alliance because of a certain number of crew on board, so he requested a transfer blah blah blah. Please don't scare him off and some other crap Nix didn't remember. A fetch quest is what this was. That's all Rick had to say. So...

"Let's get this fetch quest started." Nix said, opening the screen of his omni-tool and began scrolling through the newbie's dossier. Middle of his class at Grissom. Low level biotic. No tech or heavy weaponry specialization. He wasn't a pilot. There really was nothing to this kid, "Either he's involved in some super top class secret shit, or this...Lance Poscharsky is the most boring cadet the Alliance has ever turned out."

He continued scrolling through what little information there was. "Born in Chicago, mom died when he was young. Alliance academy, Grissom academy, a year on the Quebec. And then here. That's it." Nix looked back at Manny, who was reading over his shoulder, "They sent us cannon fodder."

"Another biotic? Damn, you'll outnumber us soon." Manny muttered.

"I'd hope so." Nix said with the slightest of smiles. He flicked a finger and the profile scrolled rapidly back to the top, "Poscharsky? What is that, Polish?"

Manny pointed at the screen, "Says he speaks Russian. Not a lot of people speak that. Maybe his family's from Russia."

"Maybe." Nix said, his interest piqued, "20 credits?"

Manny shook his head, "I got a feeling about this one. 50 credits."

They shook on it. Since the day they had both set foot on the Orleans, an instant bond formed between Nix Caldwell and Manny Alvarez. A brotherhood that had served them both well over the last 4 years, and one that would last much longer. They had taken to each other right away, Nix admiring Manny's calm under pressure and incredible sniping skills. Manny thought Nix's sense of humor helped keep him calm and liked the fact that Nix, a gunnery chief, didn't treat him like a lower ranking lance corporal. They were seemingly equal in his eyes, a refreshing perspective that Manny hadn't experienced much in his younger years in the Alliance. By chance they had been assigned to the Orleans' armory and as such, soon learned how each other ticked. Their hopes and dreams. Family history and fears. They had fought battles together and spent time in the same hospital rooms. A brotherhood that mean more to them than anything. And right now, it meant another bundle of credits.

The elevator opened and they disembarked, winding their way through civilians of almost every race in the galaxy, searching for newly arrived family members and checked baggage. Manny spotted the newbie and gestured down the walkway.

"Maybe he's part elf?" he said.

Nix turned his head and looked. He saw a short, unimpressive young man dressed in dark blue Alliance fatigues, his light brown hair shorn into a clean crew cut, his face clean shaven and smooth.

"I'll handle this." Nix whispered, "You just, uh. Look intimidating."

* * *

Lance Poscharsky did the best he could to keep his foot from tapping on the floor. He couldn't help but be nervous. It was like starting a new school year all over again. It felt the same way when he joined the Alliance and Grissom, the Quebec too. And now he was beginning anew again, like a delinquent stepchild no one wanted anything to do with, passed between relatives he barely knew. But it wasn't like he had done anything to deserve it. Lance had done what he thought was quite the admirable job keeping his nose clean, quietly staying away from the usual pranks and shenanigans many young recruits were roped into after joining the Academy. But maybe keeping your nose to the grindstone wasn't the real way to get noticed. Maybe the Alliance really did want recruits to take risks and adapt, he thought. You never really knew what was around the next corner.

"Poscharsky! What the hell is this, shore leave?!" a booming voice caught Lance off-guard, making him blink as he turned his head. An Alliance member with gunnery chief stripes charged up to him, a shorter angry looking man right behind him, "Pick that duffel up now son and get your ass moving!"

Lance did as he was told.

"Put that bag down! I'm not done with you yet!"

This made Lance pause, going over the words in his head, just to be sure he was hearing him right.

"Now, god damn it, you're wasting my time! You may as well hit the floor too, Poscharsky! Pushups now." The chief bellowed.

Lance was on the floor before the bag was, his arms churning, lifting his slender frame seamlessly off the floor again and again.

"Now, Poscharsky, the rules aboard the SSV Orleans are simple. I want my breakfast on the table no later than 0500 hours. Egg whites and turkey bacon only! Baths must be drawn at a temperature somewhere between 98.5 and 99.7 degrees Fahrenheit. My back must be scrubbed and my feet rubbed."

Okay, now this made Lance stop. He planked and looked up.

"Did I say you could stop!?" Lance did two more pushups, "Okay, that's enough! I'm getting winded just watching you. On your feet!"

The young corporal rose to his feet, sweat pouring down his face, his arms filled with a satisfactory burn.

"Now you listen up! I have been tasked with bring you back to our beloved ship, but if you don't meet our standards, there's no way you're setting foot in our magnificent space vessel. Isn't that right, manservant?" The chief gestured to the shorter man, who scowled in return before shaking his head. The chief turned his attention back to Poscharsky, "You just need to answer one simple, itty-bitty question before we let you onto the greatest ship ruling deep space today...Are you Russian or Polish?"

Lance looked him in the eye. The harsh demeanor was gone, his voice had gone from booming to quiet and normal. The chief stared back in bated breath. Lance looked at the other man, who was looking on in an equal amount of anticipation.

"I'm sorry sir?" Lance finally managed to say.

"Your last name. Is it Russian or Polish?"

Was this some kind of trick? Lance had no idea what to do. It was probably some sort of hazing tactic. Might as well just go along with it.

"Russian."

The chief cursed under his breath while the other man pumped his fist in excitement.

"Put it on my tab. You know I'm good for it."

"Yeah yeah..."

"Alright, pick up your bag, let's go." Lance only stared, "Oh sorry. I'm Gunnery Chief Caldwell, this is Lance Corporal Alvarez. Nix and Manny if you're feeling nasty."

Tired, yes. Confused, for sure. Nasty? Not right this second.

Caldwell jerked his head back toward the way they came and the trio started walking. "You picked a good day to join us, Poscharsky. We're getting ourselves a new captain." He looked over at Alvarez, "Double or nothing?"

"No bet." Alvarez said.


	4. 1:3 Congratulations

**"Don't find a fault, find a remedy." - Henry Ford**

* * *

 _"...Congratulations."_

The words rang in Krys' head, cutting through her indifferent disposition, making her feel a brief flash of panicked anger every time the words echoed. Her dress blues suddenly felt heavy, like they were soaked in ten gallons of water, holding her down against the back of the elevator. The lift rose back up to whence it came, the dock holding the Orleans.

 _"Let's make this brief. Item number 33.1, answering the SSV Orleans' request for a permanent captain." Admiral Mendes had said, "As we know, the ship's former captain Hamid Al-Hassan was recently given a well deserved promotion to admiral. As per custom, the former captain was allowed an audience with the board in order to make a recommendation for the new captain. As no suitable outside candidates were available at the time, the decision was made to promote from within. Per Admiral Al-Hassan's recommendation, Commander Patrick V. Quinn as been chosen as the next captain of the Orleans."_

 _"Commander Quinn, you've refused numerous promotions in the past." Admiral Roizen said, "Will you be refusing this one as well?"_

 _"Yes, ma'am. I respectfully refuse the promotion to captain." Rick said._

Krys tensed as she remembered. Rick shifted out of the corner of her eye. He hadn't said a word since the hearing ended.

 _"Commander Quinn, when asked as a reason for your refusal of these promotions, you're go-to answer seems to be 'family'. Will you take that as your stance again?" Admiral Ford had asked, "Or did you come up with something a little more creative this time?" He smirked.  
_

 _"Yes, sir. Family it is."_

 _"As a commander serving on an Alliance vessel, you're already away from your family a substantial part of the year. You understand, at this point, the excuse of 'family' isn't good enough anymore. Surely that's not the only reason."_

 _"Of course not, sir. But Admiral Mendes requested this be a brief hearing, I don't think we have the time."_

 _Ford rolled his eyes, scoffed._

What a snarky asshole, Krys had thought. Admiral Ford acted as though hearings were something of an inconvenience to him. This hearing had apparently been no different.

 _"You do realize then, this could be the end of the road for you. An officer can only refuse a promotion so many times before his superiors realize he isn't what they are looking for anymore." Ford had said._

 _"I realize that but I stand by my convictions, Admiral."_

 _"I consider what you're doing to be a form of insubordination and I feel you should be removed from your post effective immediately. An Alliance officer unwilling to do the job asked of him repeatedly has no place on a ship."_

 _"Isn't this a bit drastic?" Admiral Al-Hassan asked Ford, coming to his friend's defense._

 _"Quinn has wasted enough of our time over the years. If we see him again, it'll be too soon." Ford said, waving a dismissive hand._

 _"Though not as harsh a tone, I agree with Admiral Ford." Mendes said, "This can only be done so many times before some sort of action must be taken."_

 _"Then we vote." Ford said, "I motion Commander Quinn be stripped of his rank and removed from his post, effective immediately."_

 _"I second the motion." Mendes said._

 _"All in favor?"_

 _"If I may, Admirals?" Shepard said._

Krys would never forget that moment. Everything stood still when James Shepard spoke. Every head in the room turned in his direction. Time stood still. Shepard's voice still sounded as youthful as ever, if only his body was the same way. His short hair was turning to salt and pepper, the deep lines and wrinkles on his face matching that of his hands, which had been wrapped around the handle of a walking stick. Truthfully, he wasn't as old as he looked. Rumors swirled that it was accelerated aging due to the famed Lazarus Project. But no one really knew the truth. Not even Shepard.

 _"Commander Quinn is far too talented and knowledgeable a soldier to be simply tossed out like yesterday's garbage. You're far too smart to act so stupid, Admiral Ford. I vote against the motion."_

 _The remaining admirals followed suit. Ford shook his head._

 _"I suppose you have another suggestion, esteemed Admiral Shepard?" Ford hissed._

 _Shepard took a moment. "I believe Commander Quinn should remain aboard the Orleans, but as second-in-command. Admiral Al-Hassan recommended another suitable replacement in young Lieutenant Commander Bishop here." His withered hand gestured to Krys._

 _Ford leaned over his table. "Surely you don't suggest she be named captain?"_

 _"You said it yourself, Admiral Shepard. She's young. Not to mention inexperienced. How can we be sure she could handle suddenly being thrown to the wolves like this?" Mendes asked._

 _"Then make it temporary." Shepard answered, "She will have a probationary period in which she will captain the Orleans. We will make a permanent decision then."_

 _"Oh please..." Ford spat._

 _"And you, young Bishop? How do you feel about this? Could you bear the burden of complete control of an Alliance ship? Holding the lives of your crew in your hands?" Roizen asked._

Now, this was the point where Krys could have just turned and walked out. Left the Alliance, flown to a remote asteroid somewhere and hid in a dark cave. She could have said a million different words that would have deemed her unsuitable for promotion. But instead, she said the only thing there was to say.

 _"Yes, ma'am. I do."_

 _"All in favor of Lieutenant Commander Krystal Bishop being named interim captain of the SSV Orleans?" Al-Hassan said._

 _"Aye." Four of the admirals said._

 _"All opposed?"_

 _"Nay." Said Ford and Mendes.  
_

 _"Then we, the illustrious Admiralty Board of the Alliance do hereby name Krystal Bishop...acting captain of the SSV Orleans. Congratulations." Shepard said, with the slightest of smiles.  
_

* * *

"Let's see, what else has been going on?" Adriana Lamarca looked away from the recorder lens and thought for a moment, "Oh! They're talking about letting some researchers onto the Citadel to study some of the Reaper artifacts they're storing there. I'm hoping I'll get an invitation to go, but the problem is I'd probably have to use my shore leave to do it. Still, it would be a great opportunity to finally see some up close. And if you and Papa can maybe plan a vacation there at the same time, we can spend some time together or get dinner or something like that...But I guess that's only if Papa is feeling up for it by then..." Her voice trailed off and she looked away again, brushing her wavy chestnut hair behind an ear. A green light blinked, indicating she had 30 seconds of recording time left.

"I don't have much time left so I better start signing off. Mom, 'jag älskar dig någonsin så mychet'. If Papa is awake, tell him I said 'Io ti amo e spero che to guarine presto'. I'll see you all soon. Tell sister I said hello and kiss the girls for me. I miss you all."

She smiled a sad smile and blew a kiss.

"End transmission."

Adriana opened the door of the communications hub, formerly the security checkpoint scanning room between the war room and galaxy map. Dean had converted it about a year ago to house many of the comms upgrades he had installed, as well as a booth for recording small video transmissions to send home. He had convinced the former Captain Al-Hassan that it made more sense to use this for personal communications than using the holo conference room, which used almost ten times more power. It took the twisting of more than an arm or two to gain official approval.

She walked up to the console nearest the recording booth, where Dean was sitting, tapping away at a few holographic keys.

"You sound sadder every time you say that." Dean said.

Adriana smiled, "Well how else am I going to get mom to send more cookies?" She leaned down and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"She does make some pretty good biscotti."

"Papa's favorite," Adriana said with a hint of sadness, "Hopefully I'll hear back from them this time." She said, leaning against his console, "I think they skipped the last reply because he wasn't doing well. Didn't want me to worry."

"I'll let you know as soon as anything comes in."

"Thanks Dean." She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"Excuse me, sir?" One of Dean's communications crew, PFC Foster Collins, leaned back in his chair just down the row of consoles. Adriana quickly took her hand away from his shoulder, "I've got a message coming in direct from Alliance headquarters."

"Is it live?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Negative. It's a data packet. Size indicates it's most likely our next detail."

Dean looked up at Adriana, "Do you want it or shall we save it for the new captain?"

"I'll take it." She stood up, looking at Collins, "You can send it to the galaxy map console, I'll get it there."

"Yes, ma'am."

Adriana walked around the back of the galaxy map, giving a friendly smile to a pair of yeomen that had just gotten off the elevator. With a few keystrokes, she had already opened her messages at the terminal. She scrolled through countless correspondence with her sister Olga and the rest of her family. Orders from high command from years past. She even had a few junk mail promoting Blasto 11: No Turning Back from a few years ago, and the mail kept getting older the more she scrolled. She kept them all, and made sure her new mail appeared all the way at the bottom of the page so she would have to see them. A good way to remind her what was important. Finally she found the mail from Alliance command and opened it. Adriana let out a sigh and gave her brown eyes the slightest of rolls. Just as she suspected: A surveillance mission in the Hades Nexus. It made sense to give a new captain such an easy assignment to start, but this equated to an unofficial shore leave. There was nothing there! An abandoned Cerberus base, maybe a mining colony still in working condition, but not much else. Oh well. Maybe now she could finally catch up on some sleep.

"Heidi-ho!" Nix shouted as he and Manny returned with the transfer, Poscharsky.

Adriana waited until they're close enough so she doesn't have to raise her voice, "You're late," she said without looking up.

"We took him to a few of our favorite spots around Vancouver," Nix said.

Adriana gave him a stern look.

"Not inside! We only showed him where it was, so in case Manny and I go missing he knows where to look." he added.

She rolled her eyes and a corner of her mouth drew up. Sure, he was irritating more often than not but sometimes she couldn't help herself but smile. Turning to the transfer, she said, "Corporal Poscharsky, welcome to the Orleans. I'm First Lieutenant Adriana Lamarca, I'm the ship's biologist and third-in-command. If you ever can't find one of the higher ups, you can always come to me." she said warmly.

"Thank you ma'am," Lance said.

"I see Caldwell and Alvarez managed not to scare you off,"

"Give it time," Nix said, slapping Lance hard on the back.

An agitated voice behind them startled her, "Excuse me, please."

Nix and Manny made way for Madeline Carlyon, the Orleans' medical doctor, who had just reboarded the ship herself. A worn out brown medic bag was slung over her shoulder.

"Where were you?" Adriana asked.

"Medical supply run, just thought I might as well resupply a few things while we're here."

"I didn't know you were off the ship,"

"I didn't want to bother you," Madeline said, a defensive tone in her voice, "It was a quick point A to point B run. That's all. Does that sound like something you needed to be bothered with?"

She brushed by the group, heading toward the elevator.

"Next time, let someone know, even if it's not me,"

"Yes ma'am," Madeline said without turning around.

Adriana was about to say something else when ANII interjected.

 _"The commanding officer is aboard. XO Lamarca stands relieved."_

Adriana looked up and squinted through the galaxy map's glowing holographic display of Earth to see Krys and Rick reenter the ship, already disassembling their dress blues as soon as they boarded. She excused herself from the others and went to meet her superiors. "How did it go?" she asked. No response.

"Captain?" Adriana asked, looking at Rick. He raised an eyebrow and jerked his head toward Krys. Adriana felt her chest tighten. "No!" she said, a bit of what she could only describe as astonishment in her voice. Perhaps a bit too much. Krys gave her a look. "I mean...I'm so happy for you but what happened? I thought that...didn't Al-Hassan recommend Rick for the position?"

"He did," Rick said, his jacket sliding off.

"So...you said no again? And they didn't discharge you?" Adriana quickly put the pieces together.

Rick shrugged, "Call it divine intervention,"

"Call it whatever you want," Krys said, her jacket now off as well. She signaled to one of the yeoman, handing it to him. "Have captain's bars put on this. And everything else in my quarters. And then...take my belongings up to the captain's quarters."

"Yes, ma'am. And congratulations." he said, saluting.

"Thank you," the new captain said, returning the salute.

Adriana smiled, "Aw, Krys, your first order as captain! I'm so proud!" She poured as much sugar into this as she could, "I'm going to hug you now."

"Please don't hug me," Krys said flatly.

The biologist moved in deliberately, her arms out.

"Adriana, please don't..." Krys couldn't finish before Adriana wrapped her arms around her.

"Your first insubordinate," The biologist whispered, "I'm honored,"


	5. 1:4 Fragments

**"The future begins today." - Wayne Gerard Trotman**

* * *

The elevator doors opened and Krys stared into the emptied captain's quarters, the ominous glow from a lifeless fish tank bathing the left side of the room in a ghoulish blue light. She stepped inside, the heels of her boots clicking lightly on the floor. To her right was her box of belongings next to the closed computer. Krys approached it, staring through the transparent display case, her eerie half-reflection staring back. She was captain now. Captain of an Alliance ship. It hadn't quite hit her yet and it probably never would. Most members of the Alliance would be celebrating the moment with friends, drinking and carrying on. Or crying over a holocall with family. Or even basking in all their hard work finally paying off.

But she wasn't. Krys didn't want to do any of that. She wanted to sit alone in the dark, enjoying the silence. Maybe get the last good sleep she'd ever get. It wasn't that she didn't have any family or friends. Sure, most of the crew was friendly enough but she knew she had failed to make a real emotional connection with any of them. Her relationship with them was nothing more than businesslike. Shared work-space companions, she had heard somewhere. Krys knew this wasn't going to work if she was captain. She had to find whatever she'd been missing for all these years.

The new captain opened the box on the desk and rifled through the contents. Besides her extensive collection of books, there wasn't much inside. A few trinkets from the planets she's visited, some hair bands and a deactivated digital picture frame she took out of the box and placed next to the computer. The rest could wait until tomorrow.

Krys stepped down into the sleeping area, unaware of the coffee table, her shin connecting with a loud dull thump. She gritted her teeth, cursed under her breath and sat on the bed, furiously rubbing her leg. What a fantastic start. Above her, the reddish-brown dwarf planet of Volkov slid into view. And so her first assignment had begun. Volkov was notorious for pirate activity so the crew was told to be on high alert, but her mind wandered. Back to her so-called relationship with them. No matter if she wanted to deal with it now or not, it had to be dealt with.

"ANII, is Madeline still awake?"

* * *

Dr. Madeline Carlyon closed her terminal, finally having finished today's round of annual physicals. It would be 2 more days before she made it through the whole crew. And now she had an ensign from the engineering deck needed his appendix removed tomorrow morning. Splendid!

She turned to the ensign, Holbrook, who was resting on the bed against the wall behind her, pasting on a mask of bedside manner. "You just about ready for sleep, Marcus?"

"Yes ma'am." Holbrook said, putting his hands behind his head, "I just can't wait to have this damned appendix out,"

"I'm sure," she said, going over a checklist in her head. Pillows, painkillers, water, blankets, "If you need anything else, please let me know,"

Madeline turned for her quarters, the AI core connected to the back of the medical bay but couldn't make it before that blasted ANII interupted. " _Dr. Carlyon?_ "

She stopped dead in her tracks, "Yes?"

" _Captain Bishop would like to schedule an appointment for a session tomorrow_ ," ANII said.

God. Damn it. "I can't until tomorrow afternoon,"

A moment passed, " _Captain Bishop says that is satisfactory_ ,"

Yippee. The new captain wants to talk about her lack of feelings again. Madeline closed her almond shaped eyes and squeezed the bridge of her nose, quickly walked to her desk, trying not to stomp her feet. She scribbled something onto a datapad and picked up her brown medic's bag. Holbrook wished her a good night, which she ignored and closed the doors behind her, finally alone in her quarters. Sometimes she couldn't stand being on this ship; the people were too damn friendly. She placed the bag on a small table and sat down, opening the bag and pulling out the medical supplies she had picked up in Vancouver. A roll of gauze, anti fungal cream, antibacterial medication and several tubes of Medigel.

Tried as she might, she couldn't help but be annoyed by nearly everyone on this ship. It seemed the only time she was happy was when she had someone cut open on the operating table. Somewhere inside her, she knew she still loved being a doctor. It was probably the only thing helping her to continue serving on this ship. Sure, she had thought of asking for a transfer to a stationary hospital or back to La Huerta. But if it wouldn't happen with Al-Hassan, there was no way Krystal would let her go.

She let out a hot breath and her hand pushed aside several more half empty supplies in the bag until she found what she was really looking for. A small clear plastic vial with a light red powder inside.

"Hello beautiful," she whispered. Time for a pick me up.

Madeline unscrewed the cap and tapped out a tiny amount onto the desk. She produced a small box of razor blades from the bag and extracted one. A generous line of Red Sand was cut. In one huff, the line was gone. Madeline rubbed her burning nostril as the inside of her head tingled and the familiar warmth spread through her system. It crept along like a spider, one inch at a time, all the way down her body until a cloak of euphoria wrapped itself around her. She felt herself lean back in her chair, her head craning up so she was looking at the ceiling. The tiles turn to swirling whirlpools, the whirlpools turned into shapeless animals, running in circles, chasing each other. She felt a smile slide over her face. Maybe operating on someone wasn't the only thing that was keeping her on this ship...

* * *

Lieutenant Dean Morgan rubbed his eyes and stifled another yawn. He sat alone at his terminal near the galaxy map, wondering why time couldn't move a little faster. It was his turn for third shift and this particular shift he was extremely bored. All the small projects he was working on had been more or less handled during his last round of down time, and he was kicking himself for it. He would kill for a helmet comms headset to repair or a new Omnitool to fiddle with. Instead, he was having a hell of a time keeping his heavy eyelids open. He heard the distant sound of Maya shuffling around the cockpit and thought for longer than a moment of going down to talk to her, but he knew as soon as he did, some call would come in and he would have to drag all the way back. That always seemed to be his luck. Maybe he could find something to break just so he could fix it. Suddenly, a loud thud.

"SHIT! YOU STUPID WANKERS!"

Dean leaned back in his chair and looked down to the cockpit where the disturbance had come from. She must have been watching a soccer match. The sound of something else crashing to the floor was followed by Maya's angry footsteps coming down the corridor. She came into view and Dean gave her a friendly smile, trying to alleviate the crimson color in her face.

"Everything alright?" he asked, instantly thinking twice about asking that question.

She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at him with a seemingly infinite amount of disbelief. "Is that a serious question?" she said through pursed lips.

"No, I'm just...trying to keep the body count to a minimum."

"Nothing is alright!" Maya shouted, her petite voice reaching decibels Dean couldn't believe, "Arsenal can't get a back line to save their lives! I'm losing my fuckin' mind! Get me a pair of boots, I'll do it my-fuckin'-self!"

"You're a brick wall, Cricket. And a foul mouth." Dean said, a dash of color catching his peripheral vision. A small orange light flashed, indicating a trace signal had been detected. He shot upright, his fingers already tracing around the holographic keypad. Maybe some fragment of a transmission from somewhere on the planet. Space pirates were notorious for hiding behind Volkov's two moons and attacking freighters and merchandise ships. It was probably a rogue signal from one of them.

Maya was still carrying on, saying something about sacking the manager and launching him into deep space. Dean cracked a smile and punched a few keys, isolating the signal from the rest of the useless junk that had been compiling since his shift started. The static was slowly stripped away, like 100 sheets being peeled off a bed one at a time. He pressed play and cocked his head to the side, listening to the static. Suddenly, the faintest of sounds tickled his ear, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Dean picked up his favorite pair of headphones and slipped them on, held them tightly over his ears and leaned forward. He closed his eyes, focusing his concentration on the deepest part of the static. There it was again.

"-And then beat him with the handle after it breaks off!" Maya spat.

"Can you hear this?" Dean asked, sliding the headphones over the back of his neck.

Maya stared at him, breathing heavily, "What?!"

"Listen to this." he disconnected the headphones and played the transmission again. Solid static for a few seconds, Dean counted in his head when she should have heard it. He watched her intently for her reaction.

"I don't know, maybe." she said, wiping sweat from her brow.

"Listen again." Dean said. He brought up the holographic level controls and adjusted a few of them, trying his best to filter as much static as he could on his own. He played it again, and it was quite a bit clearer. This time they both heard it.

"It sounds like a song." Maya said, giving him a confused look. Her eyes remained puffy and red as she calmed down, "Doesn't it?"

He nodded, "It does...ANII, I need help. This needs to be spotless."

" _Yes, Lieutenant._ "

An hour had passed. Maya left to sleep in her usual makeshift bunk in the cockpit, leaving Dean and ANII to finish cleaning the 'song'. The entirety of the audio clip no longer than 5 seconds and Dean played it over and over again, mesmerized. It had such a familiar sound to it, but he was having such a hard time putting his finger on where he had heard it. ANII was running the clip through the Alliance computers, but Dean wasn't keeping his hopes up.

" _Initial check indicate no record of this transmission in Alliance records._ "

Dean rubbed his temples, "Anything close?"

" _The closest transmissions resembling this is are several beacons located in restricted Alliance archives_."

"Then lets open the archives."

" _It may take more than a few moments. Permissions must be granted by the Alliance_."

Dean looked up and down the empty ship, "I got all the time in the world,"


	6. 1:5 Song for the Stars

**"Your big opportunity may be right where you are now." - Napoleon Hill**

* * *

Service Chief Jheridiah Greene dropped his tray of chow onto the table with a satisfying clatter. Most of the crew was gathered in the mess hall, enjoying whatever morning grub they could get their hands on. The mood seemed light and jovial, as seemed to happen when there was unofficial downtime. Jher had chosen his usual fare, scrambled eggs, sausage, toast and a root beer. The smell of the fresh eggs wafted up, making his stomach growl. Protein and sugar. What else could a person need?

"That's the most noise I've heard you make in quite some time," Manny said, without looking up from his plate of huevos verde.

"You don't listen carefully enough. All the noise I make is when I'm working," Jher produced a personal bottle of hot sauce from his fatigues and doused his eggs in the bright red liquid, "Speaking of which, I need you and Nix to help clear some space in the shuttle bay, we're getting a decommissioned vehicle next time we go to the Citadel,"

"Decommissioned? Why?"

"We asked for a replacement for the Kodiak we just put out to pasture and instead of something new, they're sending one of the dozens of shuttles they just refurbished. It's off the books so it doesn't matter if we destroy it. But I swear if they send a Mako, destroying it will happen sooner than later,"

"Ah come on! Everyone loves the M35!" Manny laughed.

Jher growled, "Put four wheels on a ten ton brick and it would handle better than that thing," he covered his face with his hands and ran them up through his smooth blonde hair.

"Did I hear that right?" Nix suddenly piped up, carrying his own plate of something completely covered in white gravy.

"Yes, we're getting a decom-"

"No, not that! Clearing space? I'm sorry, manual labor is not what I signed up for when I joined the Alliance. Saving the galaxy, yes. Moving crates, no,"

"It's already been cleared, I get both of you for 1 hour,"

"Get some of the cronies in engineering to help you, they love this kind of shit!"

"It's just an hour. You'll live," Jher said, triumphantly taking a bite of his eggs. Whew, spicy. Madeline sat down next to him without a word. As much as she grated on everyone, Jher really didn't mind being around her. It felt like she shared the sentiment without ever having actually said it. Honestly, she reminded him of his sister. So serious and intense all the time. Not angry, that's not the word he would use. She had a way about her, the way she took her work seriously, that he admired. But he'd never ask if she admired his work ethic as well. He didn't need to know that.

"How about you, Doc? Want to help shove some crates around?" Nix asked. She gave a quick piercing glace before stirring her plain oatmeal. Rick came from around the corner and stopped at their table.

"Morning everyone," he said.

"Commander! I do not approve! I'm sure there's something in my contract that states I can't lift anything over 50 pounds before lunch," Nix interjected.

"Not even lifting your head off the pillow?" Madeline muttered, making Manny laugh. Jher smiled as well.

Nix gave her a glare, "You know I'm sensitive about the size of my head,"

"I don't care if you approve, it's got to be done," Rick said, "But whatever you all have planned needs to be put on hold. War room, 10 minutes,"

"All of us?" Manny asked.

"Yes. Including you, Doc," Rick said to Madeline.

"I have to prep for surgery," she said, annoyed.

"It won't take that long. And find someone else, we need a fresh set of eyes,"

Nix's eyes lit up, "I know just the guy,"

* * *

Lance walked with Nix and Manny down a small hallway, past a boardroom, a long wooden table behind crystal clear glass walls. He had barely stepped into the chow line before his two crewmates grabbed him and said he was needed by the "big wigs". Lance assumed it was some sort of hazing, at least until they entered the large circular war room. A few members of the crew were scattered around the room, most of them he recognized. Captain Witte, Commander Quinn and Dr. Lamarca were standing at the far end of the room, next to the comms officer Morgan, who looked particularly tired. The pretty blonde pilot was on the opposite side of the room. She smiled at Lance. He smiled shyly in return.

Nix and Manny found a powered down console to lean on. Lance decided to find somewhere a little further away from everyone. Whatever was going on, he wanted to stay out of the way. He stood in front of the door, which Dr. Carlyon and a blonde man he didn't recognize walked in, the name 'GREENE' over his left breast. The door slid shut behind them.

"Everybody listen up!" Rick shouted, bringing the few quiet conversations going on to a sudden halt. He nodded to Krystal and she stepped forward.

"This briefing is priority level black. What you're about to hear doesn't leave this room until further notice," she said in a firm confident voice. "Dean,"

It was Lieutenant Morgan's turn now, "Just bear with me here," he said quietly, punching a few buttons on the large center terminal. The graphics went away and he took a deep breath. "At approximately 0200 hours this morning, the Orleans picked up a transmission from the planet below. Not the planet itself, but one of its moons," A hologram of Volkov suddenly appeared, slowly turning. It then zoomed in on one of the moons, Alena. "ANII believes the iridium content in Volkov's surface acted as sort of an antennae, amplifying the transmission enough for us to actually pick it up. I'm leaning toward that it was mostly dumb luck. We spent a few hours cleaning the signal and trying to figure out where it came from but we're still working on finding the origin point. However, we did find a match in the Alliance archives,"

"It's an Alliance signal?" Nix asked.

Dean nodded, "Some of you may not be aware, every ship in the Alliance fleet is equipped with a secondary distress signal, a backup to the backup if you will. Those of us in communications call them 'songs'. It's designed with its own independent battery pack so in theory it will continue to be active even if the main distress signal is disabled for some reason. What you may not know is that each signal is coded for each individual ship, like a fingerprint, so we know specifically which ships we've lost in battle or otherwise and helps to know which families to notify. It's also extremely difficult to replicate, making the likelihood of creating a dummy signal next to impossible. As an example, this is the Orleans' backup. ANII, would you please play audio file A721?"

" _Yes, Lieutenant,_ " Over the PA system, they heard five pings, disjointed and hollow, spaced at odd increments.

"Sounds like a pretty ugly song," Manny muttered.

"It's not meant to sound like anything. The notes are random, plus between the pings you can hear, there are notes on frequencies that can't be heard, so most songs aren't going to be very easy on the ears. Every once in a while though...ANII, please play audio file B721,"

The song ANII played this time was much more pleasant, albeit the sound being a bit more cloudy. It was sing-songy and seemed to float out of the speakers, falling in gentle waves to the floor.

"It's beautiful," Adriana said.

"What is it?" Greene said.

Dean took a deep breath and glanced over at Krys, who gave a subtle nod. He looked back at the crew, "It's the Normandy,"

Lance's chest tightened. The air in the room shifted. For a moment, no one said anything. Confused glances were exchanged.

"What do you mean the Normandy?" Greene asked, sounding more than somewhat skeptical.

"I mean...it's the Normandy,"

More uncomfortable silence.

"How is that possible?" Dr. Carlyon finally asked, "The original Normandy was destroyed by the Collectors,"

"Not the SR1. It's the SR2," Dean said. The one missing for nearly 30 years.

"Jesus," Maya muttered, covering her mouth with her hand.

"How is that possible?" Carlyon repeated, "How do you know that signal belongs to the Normandy?"

" _It is a 98.3% match with the signal from archives_ ," ANII said.

"The battery packs on the secondary signals are supposed to last almost 50 years, so in theory, yes it could be," Dean said, "But we don't know for sure,"

"And there's only one way to know for sure," Krys piped up.

A moment passed before Nix sat up, "We're going down there? Tell me we're going down there,"

"We're awaiting word from the Alliance but we're going down there, sooner rather than later," Krys said.

The tension and disbelief changed to a rumble of excitement. They had found the Normandy, or at least something close to it. And they were going down there.


	7. 1:6 Fly Me to the Moon

**"Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past." - George Orwell**

* * *

It didn't take long for the call to come back. The admiralty board had given the mission approval, priority level black. The rest of the crew had been briefed on what was about to happen and, as such, Krys gave Dean an order to temporarily cut off any outbound communications. Until they were sure one way or the other what was down there, they couldn't risk anything being leaked.

Over the years, Maya had been through her fair share of copilots, ranging from the sickeningly optimistic Quentin to the frustratingly stubborn Kensil. He didn't last very long. Her current ward was a young man by the name of Hawthorne. He was from Wales so they had gotten along well, despite the differences in their favorite football clubs. He was willing to listen and was a quick learner, surely the brightest mind she had ever shared the cockpit with. And even then, he wasn't her favorite copilot. Not even close.

That honor belonged to Simon and Lola, the toy cricket and hula girl that were attached to her control console. They had been with her from the beginning of her career, taking refuge in her footlocker at the academy and finally were able to live in the open once she had earned the controls of the Orleans. Simon, a cartoonish light green cricket with a goofy smile and big white eyes, was her favorite, although she'd never tell Lola.

Hawthorne had left to grab a bite to eat in the mess hall, leaving the three of them to listen to the mission briefing.

 _"Initial scans show the Normandy is resting at a 27 degree angle on the surface, making the main hatch more trouble than it's worth to get in that way, so we'll be using breaches in the hull here and here to access the interior of the ship,"_ Rick said, his voice coming through the overhead intercom.

 _"27 degrees? It didn't crash did it?"_ Manny asked.

 _"From what we can tell, the only damage to the ship were the two hull breaches. The rest of the ship appears to be pretty well intact."_ Rick said. The translucent hologram projecting from Maya's console moved in time with his words, the small orange image of the Normandy's breaches indicated with red circles.

 _"Well...the weather couldn't have buried it. Moons have no atmosphere."_ Adriana added.

 _"Kozlov has a very thin atmosphere but we doubt wind is what buried it. The moon has a surface that's less dense than other moons."_ Krys said. _"It acts like quicksand in certain places, which would be the easiest way to explain it."_

 _"Is it still sinking?"_ Manny asked.

There was a brief silence. Rick answered, _"We're not sure. If it is, it's happening at a rate we can't detect yet. It may have already bottomed out. Add that to the moon's slightly higher than normal gravity and we've got a potential hazard below our feet._ _We can't afford to take chances."_

 _"Fire team will consist of Poscharsky and Alvarez, you'll enter through the breach on the Normand's hull. It should give you access to the cargo bay and hangar. If there was a crash landing, that's where some of the crew may have gone. You should be able to access the engineering deck, if not, wait for Smoke team to come down."_ Krys continued, _"Smoke team will consist of Lieutenants Morgan and Lamarca, Caldwell and myself. We'll enter through the breach near the captain's cabin. Once though, we'll access the CIC, Morgan and Caldwell will try to restore power. Lieutenant Lamarca and I will continue on to the crew deck. Chief Greene will stay in the Kodiak and provide aerial reconnaissance. Objectives are to restore power, find the flight logs, search for signs of survivors and safely extract. Clear?"_

There was a chorus of agreement.

 _"Alright, finish any prep. Meet at the shuttle in 15 minutes."_

Maya smiled at Simon, "Here we go."

* * *

The shuttle bay of the Orleans was already a considerable distance behind them, Jher's matte finished, forest green Kodiak speeding toward the moon's surface. The moon as notorious for having space pirates hiding on it's dark side, waiting for freighters to ambush, so as not to attract any attention, the Kodiak would go in on it's own, the Orleans staying a fair distance from the moon itself but close enough to provide any help if things went awry. A powerful guardian angel watching over the handful of marines below. The Kodiak was filled to the brim with 7 crew members, including Jher. Everyone was wearing their breather masks, matching each of their colorful armors. Not much was said. But really, what could any of them talk about that could be more engaging than this?

"Switching to individual life support." Jher said, as the Kodiak swooped up and ran level with the surface of Kozlov. The terrain was covered with long rolling dunes of bluish purple sand, littered with more than a few sharp crags and craters from meteor impacts. He felt the inertia dampeners kick in as the Kodiak smoothly rolled down the side of one of the dunes and he pulled up, descended up a small cliff. "Approaching the crash site." He heard Krys move to the front of the Kodiak, standing behind his right shoulder. She stared out the front port at the sprawling jagged terrain, her brown eyes intense behind her mask's visor.

"Take it in slow." She ordered.

Jher pulled back on the throttle a touch as the Kodiak reached the top of the cliff and zoomed down into a long sandy plain. And there, at the far end of the plain, was the Normandy, tilted into the sand. Jher felt his stomach tighten, butterflies worked their way up to his chest.

"Holy shit, it's real." Nix said, joining Krys at the front. "I mean, of course it's real. I'm just saying, it's actually there..."

"Shut up, Nix. Fire team, get ready."

Manny and Lance moved to the door. Jher flipped a few switches. "Pressure equalized. Good luck." He said. The side door of the Kodiak slid open, moving into position near the hull breach, inching closer until the team could take a long step across. Sand scraped along the bottom of the shuttle.

"Good luck friend." Manny said to Nix.

"See you on the other side, amigo!"

Manny carefully stepped through the breach, found his footing and pulled himself through. He disappeared inside a moment before reappearing, gesturing for Lance to join him. The young corporal did so, and the shuttle moved away, gliding seamlessly up the side of the Normandy, Jher's expertly trained hands taking them toward the captain's cabin.

"Fire team in position." Krys said.

" _Copy that_." Rick's voice came from the Orleans.

"Did you see the scorch marks? Someone cut their way in." Dean said.

"Maybe pirates?" Adriana sounded skeptical. "Maybe Cerberus."

Dean shook his head, "If Cerberus found it, we would have discovered that intel a long time ago."

"Not if they wanted to keep it a secret."

"Hey, head up!" Krys interrupted. Jher positioned the Kodiak a few yards away from the opening on top of the ship.

"Ladies first." Nix said, gesturing toward the door. Krys shot him a look. One by one they filed out, the four of them gathering around the breach, peering inside. More black scorch marks around the edge.

Krys looked at each of them, "Stay sharp."

* * *

" _Smoke team in position_." Krys said.

"Copy that." Rick repeated. He stood with his arms crossed next to the CIC map, a holographic overlay of the Normandy projected in front of him. As he watched the tiny red triangles representing each of the crew move slowly and deliberately through the 3D holograph, he wished he could be one of the triangles. What a weird thought.

The Normandy. The greatest ship the Alliance fleet had ever known. Just below him on the moon's surface. One day, even though it wouldn't be today, he wanted to set foot inside the hull. To feel the history and honor of such a vessel surge through him like a wave of electricity. Even the thought made his arm hair stand up. Who knew what this could mean to the morale of the Alliance, even more so, the entire Galaxy itself.

Dr. Carlyon exited the elevator to his left, her black hair pulled tightly into a bun. She stood next to him, crossing her arms the same as his.

"How did surgery go?" he asked.

"He's alive anyway." She answered dryly, staring at the holograph.

"That's...good."

"I agree. I like it when they survive."

" _Rick, I'm picking something up on my scanners_." It was Jher. " _South, southeast of the Normandy. It's faint, keeps coming in and out. Not sure what it is, no visual yet_."

"Keep an eye on it." Rick answered.

"Pirates?" Carlyon asked, finally breaking her gaze.

He glanced at her, biting his tongue. Wouldn't that just be perfect? Squashing a band of space pirates sounded like fun, but it was the last thing they needed at the moment. Rick turned his attention back to the map, silently urging his comrades to quicken their pace.


End file.
